


Here is My Heart (bleeding and keeps coming back to you)

by tukimecca



Category: World Trigger
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I mean Miwa hates himself too, Jin hates himself, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Hatred, he hates Jin too, so does Miwa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tukimecca/pseuds/tukimecca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin and his self-loathing. Miwa and his hatred. The two of them in their guilt, regret, and loss. And in the dark of the room where they feed on each other's darkness, they might be feeling safe and sound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here is My Heart (bleeding and keeps coming back to you)

**Author's Note:**

> I did mention that I can only write 'angsty, weepy, incredibly sappy jinmiwa' or 'toe-curling, cringey, fluffy jinmwa' and no 'in between', right? It's true. It's the fact. And this is the result of the former, blame all stucky fics and videos, and binge-reading all jinmiwa fanfics on PIXIV. This is practically word-vomit of pain and suffering, because jinmiwa spells 'pain and suffering'. Thankfully, this one ends on happier notes. No warning. But I cannot write smut to save a life. So, maybe, a warning? And a cup of hot chocolate, it makes you feel better. Always hot chocolate to make you feel better.

Complacent.

That's what Jin's ability to see the future has made him to be. Contented. Unconcerned. Everything he does is with practiced ease because even if it 'has not taken place', he has 'experienced' it beforehand. Miwa loathes it, loathes _him_ and his unruffled attitude. And he can write long essay to explain why he hates Jin Yuuchi, but he cannot explain himself why is he  doing this - _this_ as in lapping the sweat-slicked skin of the very same man he claimed to despise.

Jin is making a noise with his throat beneath him, pleased and guttural. His too-warm fingers are splayed on the expanse of Miwa’s back, just above his hips, pressing in too deep yet still shallow that Miwa needs them just a little bit closer. Miwa sinks his teeth into the tender skin on the side of the brunette’s neck, his name leaves Jin’s lips in gasped out whisper. He bites down, hard that it draws blood. The metal taste blooms in his mouth, it’s like a toxic - hot and and abrasive. He drinks them like man would water after being abandoned in desert for decades.

“Shuuji,” Jin moans, curling his fingers a little bit tighter that Miwa would not be surprised to find crescent marks on his skin. Miwa is not sure what he actually wants Miwa to do. Does he want Miwa to stop or he wants him to continue, he cannot tell because the whimper that leaves his sinful lips is obviously of pleasure, but he does wince as well, and he grinds his teeth together like he is in pain.

Miwa does not understand him, probably will never will, not like he is making an effort to anyways. _This_ \- whatever thing they are doing right now - is not something that requires mutual understanding. _This_ is not harmless but certainly is mindless. Miwa detaches his teeth from Jin’s skin, staring at the dark red liquid that trickle down Jin’s salty skin then pools in the dip of his sharp collar bones. His gaze stays there for a long time, like it’s charmed to only look there, until Jin uses his fingers to raises his chin with no finesse at all and devours Miwa’s swollen lips hungrily in open-mouthed kiss.

He groans when Jin flips them over so he is not crushed under Jin’s weight, but it turns into moan immediately once Jin’s all too hot fingers curl themselves around Miwa’s cock. Jin starts stroking him and Miwa bucks in pleasure, moaning unabashedly into Jin’s mouth.

“No,” Miwa gasps after Jin abandons his lips for his neck, attacking them violently and arduously like he is a man in a mission. “Stop- not there- God!” Jin sucks on his nipple eagerly, sucking Miwa’s energy along with it. The young boy feels his body going lax, hands falling limply to his side and his trashing stops. He can’t do this, it feels too good, way too good than it should be and in his overstimulated condition, his body’s natural reaction is to give up whatever little control remain.

He can feel Jin smiling on his skin, his stroke doubles up its pace, causing Miwa to jerk violently. The keening noise that starts to leave his mouth makes Jin’s smile grows impossibly bigger, he releases himself from Miwa’s chest, looking at his face with eyes dark and shining. “Beautiful,” he breaths out.

Miwa chooses not to look at his face, he does not turn his face away but drop his gaze sideways, finding their discarded clothes crumpled messily on the floor. He refuses to see what he could have find there - something he knows will be but does not want to acknowledge. It’s easier to pretend he doesn’t know it exist than denying it after its existence is confirmed. Jin sighs, soft and weary, then he squeezes hard, making Miwa moans out loud, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He lets the pleasure consume him like wave, it feels good, unbelieveably good even that Miwa momentarily forgets it is the guy he hates doing this heavenly thing to him.

Jin kisses him, messy and uncoordinated, and wet, very very wet like the dirty sound his hand is making. He nudges on Miwa’s chin with his nose so Miwa’s gaze flicker back to him. Then Miwa remembers again that this is Jin, his eyes are blue and shining like Miwa’s are red and glassy, and Miwa can’t breathe from the combination of sinful thing Jin is doing to him and the way Jin’s lips are curled into a smile that is both breathtaking and sad. Before long, all Miwa wants to do is ‘anything’, anything as long as Jin is not smiling like that because he knows how much it ‘hurts’ deep down inside, because Miwa does too, because Miwa is hurting too. So he grabs the back of Jin’s head and crashes their lips together, kissing Jin just as messy that the brunette eventually laughs in between.

He hates Jin, does so with passion that almost equal his hatred for neighbor. But for this instance that is as fleeting as passing dream in sleepless night, he wills those prejudices to perish. And if love is the only thing that can liberate Jin from that torment, then Miwa is willing to give him. Just for this very moment.

“Shuuji,” Jin calls for him like little boy to his mother. His eyes are dark and blown, but they speak of agony so profound. “You are so,” he tugs, hard, then Miwa makes keening noise in his throat as he feels the knot in his stomach tighten, “-why are you so-” Jin does not finish his question because he kisses Miwa, long and deep while swallowing each and every single moan Miwa make as he releases himself to Jin’s fingers.

Miwa doesn’t stop Jin when he slips inside Miwa, but he stops him when Jin tries to plant a kiss, heartfelt and tender, to his forehead.

:::

He wakes up to the sun filtered by the curtain, highlighting the dancing dust particles in the air. Miwa follows them absently with mind still fuddled with sleep, then he feels a movement to his right that rips the hazy cloud of drowsiness from his head. He stares, just stare at Jin’s naked back where his nails had left multiple red marks; ‘his’ marks. Miwa follows them, from the one near his nape and three long ones that run from his left shoulder blade to his spine, then there’re four pink crescents close to them, another long scars that almost run across his whole back. He wonders if they hurt, belatedly realizes; of course they hurt, hurt like the way Jin would grip his hip that he left purpling bruises. But physical pain is bearable at best, while the ones left inside, intangible, and untouchable, they’re worst because Miwa can’t rub it away, let alone touching - he cannot even exactly pin point where and which one actually hurts.

Miwa rolls onto his back, disoriented. He gazes down to his stomach to find a pool of dried come, he grimaces upon realizing he does not know who does it belongs to. It’s gross, it decidedly is, and his skin is crawling at the obscenity. He almost barf but Jin makes a low growl with his throat that ropes Miwa’s attention back to him, then his gaze flits to that tanned back decorated with angry red ribbons. His heart beat does that racing thing when Miwa isn’t sure if they’re even beating anymore because they’re running so fast he can barely catch it, but at the same time, he knows they are because they’re so strong and loud inside the confine of his rib-cages. The funny thing is, there is absolutely no reason why he should feel so creeped out just because Jin is making a noise with his throat, which could be just nothing more than sleepy grumble, which means it holds no significant meaning whatsoever.

Miwa feels stupid; what was he thinking?

He scrubs his face harshly, holding the suddenly pooling tears at bay with the heel of his palm. ‘What am I thinking?’ he questions it, every single day, every single moment whenever he lets Jin does as much as touching him; fleeting and unsure - yet certain of what he wants. Then Miwa is reeled to him like they’re different poles of magnet, and when Jin kisses him, he begrudingly thinks that - hell, no, Jin is no south pole to his north; he is gravity, relentless and undeniable. That should explain why Miwa always finds himself back in Jin’s arms; he is a force omnipotent, and Miwa is just human, chained to the ground by the law of physics.

In conclusion, everything is Jin’s fault. Everything from the way Miwa’s limbs ache so bad and the burn on his hips is not going away. Miwa rolls so his back is facing Jin’s - bronze against porcelain, He wonders if his own is as wrecked as Jin’s, with how pale his skin is, he would not be surprised if the bruises and marks are far more prominent that Jin’s - red, purple, and ugly. Everything is Jin’s fault but if there was one thing he would not blame him is how despite his love for leaving mark on Miwa’s skin, he always does him on spot that’s virtually impossible to see unless you strip Miwa off completely from his garment. Speaking of garment, his gaze flies once again to his discarded clothes and thinks of slipping into them, but he feels gross with the dried cum on his body, and he smells so much like sweat and sex, it’s more productive to shower instead of getting dressed, the only problem is he is so lethargic; doesn’t feel like moving, but the air conditioner is fanning coldly over his skin, leaving goosebumps everywhere. And, really, it’s gonna be seven soon, lying on the bed and reveling in his self-loathing is the last thing he should do.

“Shuuji?” Jin croaks out, voice heavily laden with sleep, and there is that part of his voice that’s gruff, and it does weird thing to Miwa’s gut. It also carries an air of commandment that makes Miwa helplessly look at him.

Jin is blinking sleepily at the him, already rolling on his side and staring at Miwa with red-rimmed eyes. They’re half lidded, but his blue eyes that’s peeking from beneath his sparse lashes are brighter than the sky in the summer. They shine and Miwa’s heart constricts that painfully he almost cries. Except he bites the bottom of his lips and swallows the whimper that’s about to leap out from his throat then stares back at Jin instead, praying his eyes won’t betray him that Jin can see the words that wouldn’t leave his mouth.

“You alright?” Jin rubs his eyes, still leaning sideways. Miwa watches the way his hair flops down to his face and making he looks considerably younger. He drops his hands and his eyes are much more clearer than it already is.

Miwa blinks, then, “whatever.”

He is suddenly charged with energy so he bolts off the bed, picks up his crumpled shirt, and considers putting it on, but ended up just clutching it in his knuckle. Jin’s eyes on his back are heavy like lead, Miwa pointedly ignores it and praises himself when he manages to make it to the bathroom to toss his dirty clothes to the laundry basket. Miwa braces himself on the sink, fingers gripping the cold white tiles tightly. He is aware of the trembles that quietly rattle his body, which is ridiculous because Jin is not doing anything that following him with his eyes. But those eyes are the same stark-bright blue eyes that has made Miwa ended up in this situation more than Miwa can count. The sudden tension is not entirely his fault.

Right, because it’s ‘always’ Jin’s fault.

Giving his head a small shake, Miwa lets go of the sink and enters the bathtub, wincing at the freezing tiles. He twists the knob to the right, sending a jet of cold water all over him. Miwa closes his eyes but his mouth is opened ajar, the pouring water pooling inside his mouth, washing the taste of Jin’s lips away - he really wishes the water can cleanse him from what Jin has left on his skin; mark, touch, voice, fluid, the broken whisper on Miwa’s ears, and the way his name is uttered on his own skin. Miwa shivers for an entirely different reason than the water, he slowly wraps his arms around his body, frail and broken, yet sated and pleasured. He wants to collapse on his feet, letting his knees scrapes the cooling tiles. But he holds strong, like he has always been and squeezes tears out instead, letting them trickle helplessly down his wet cheeks. He takes shuddering breath, bracing his quivering body with his arms on the wall.

The frustration takes over him, overwhelmingly so, and he’s left with nothing but void in his chest, deeper than it has always been, open, gaping, seeking for help. He always does, except he never waits for anyone to actually take his outstretched hands. Because no one can, nobody can but his sister, his beautiful, ethereal, dead sister. His sister who could have lived if Jin choose her life over thousand others. But that’s the thing, Miwa can’t blame Jin for her death because if he was in Jin’s place, he’d choose life of thousands too; the need of one shall never out-weight the needs of many. And as much as the fact horrifies him, he will probably choose her life as well. However, that was only if he was in Jin’s place, with his duty, and responsibility, and that cursed ‘gift’ of seeing the future.

Miwa hates that blasted side-effect, wishes it’s damnation, prayed for its destruction day and night. Other people looks up to Jin in awe, because he has that ability to foresee incoming future. For other people, it’s ‘cool’, for Miwa is not, because that means ever since Jin can remember, before he is supposed to grasp the concept of life and death, he already has the weights on his shoulders, he already has the hammer, and suddenly, he has to play God, deciding who passes and who stays. If Miwa had that side-effect, he’d probably lost his sanity from the sheer gravity of responsibility that comes with that power. But Jin, he begrudgingly admits, is stronger, and he is willing, so he plays the God, making a choice, determining which door to open, casting the dice.

There are so many reasons to hate Jin Yuuichi, at least for him, at least for Miwa Shuuji who has become the victim of Jin’s decision, but if there are reasons not to hate him, then it is just as much as everyone, Jin is merely the victim of that heartless side-effect.

“Shuuji?”

Thankfully, Miwa doesn’t loose his footing that can potentially send him sprawled ungracefully on his back. His flinch merely sends his fingers slipping down the wall, still supporting his weight. Blinking, Miwa casts a side-way glance toward the closed door. There is a human-shaped (Jin-shaped) shadow standing behind the glass door, Miwa plays a quiz with himself; will he come inside? will he stay outside?

The shadow’s hand reaches out, splays on the glass and prints a palm on the surface. Under the stream of water, Miwa swears he can hear Jin’s breathing, calm and composed, confused and unsure.

“What?” He is surprised to hear his own voice, does not expect himself to answer, but answer Miwa did, and he stares at his curled fingers with the rivulets of water between the nubs of his knuckle, blinking, perplexed.

And Jin is probably just as astonished because he does not answer right away. Instead, he presses his hand, just a little bit harder, on the glass door. And Miwa exhales when he sees the other hand flies to curl themselves around the handle. “Can I come in?”

Miwa, mind still mystified, nods. Then he immediately realizes Jin cannot see, although at the same time he knows Jin can ‘see’. He says, “yes,” loud enough to be heard from beneath the heavy downpour of water.

The water swings open, the valve of Miwa’s throat closes. Jin’s hair is a complete mess,sticking to random direction, and his bangs are covering almost half his face that his blue eyes are peeking from beneath tresses of milky brown. Still bright, still vivid. “Can I join you?” Jin asks, small smile slipping to his sleep-mused face.

Miwa swallows, then he nods and steps aside. The tub is small but they have done this countless of times to know that they can fit in here, the two of them, standing under the shower. Jin sends him apologetic smile, Miwa ignores him, finding purchase on the wall by his side when Jin climbs inside the tub. Their skin is touching, ghosting, hovering over each other in awkward distance. Jin radiates heat that is scalding even under this jet of icy water, and Miwa shivers.

“Okay?” Jin asks again, quiet and his chin is turned sideways as if he wants to look at Miwa but doesn’t dare to.

Miwa knots his brows together. ‘Okay? For what? Who?’ Jin tends to be cryptic but during this kind of morning after, he gets especially confusing. Miwa’d like him to elaborate but he has learned that during this occasion, even Jin does not quiet understand himself.

So Miwa nods, hoping it is enough answer for whatever thing Jin inquires of him. It seems to be because Jin breathes a relieved sigh, and he can feel the way Jin’s shoulder unflex like the water is loosening the tight knot on his shoulders. “Good,” he murmurs, soft, not like anything the beating of his heart is, “that’s- good, yeah. You are okay.”

They know it’s a lie. But they don’t care, so they don’t say anything, just standing there, side by side, not quiet touching, but touching at the same time. Close yet far, like moon and the earth. And breathes, _in-out, in-out_ , and closes their eyes. Day just begins.

:::

Shuuji slips out from the bathroom with no words, black hair sopping wet, stark contrast to his porcelain white skin where it is plastered. He is dripping water everywhere and Jin imagines him dripping with something else. Jin berates himself mentally, curses, then shakes his head, focusing to the sensation of ice-cold water pricking at his skin to squash the stirring in his stomach. It works for the most part, because there is also tendril of guilt that works themselves over his veins as if he’s standing under the shower of remorse instead , and really, maybe it’s more the shame than the water. He twists the knob around, jet or lukewarm water replaces the iciness, shivering at the sudden change of temperature, Jin smiles depreciatingly at himself; yeah, definitely is.

Jin reaches for the soap - spice scented - then humms contentedly when he opens the lid and gets a whiff of warm, comforting aroma. He pours deliberate amount on his open palm, Jin has a bad habit of using everything he owns generously, something that Miwa does not approve, but it’s not like Miwa ever approve anything he does anyway. The bitter smile only stretches wider, thick, golden gooey of soap that drips down from the crack of his fingers are his sin; too much and overflowing, unscoopable, uncontained. There is nobody to pick that up except himself but to retrieve them, it is impossible. He can only add more, unable to redeem, like how he can’t put back the squeezed out soap back to its bottle, and the only way to lessen his loss is by stop putting pressure on it. But Jin cannot stop, he has to continue doing this, for there is worth to what he does, for he sees better future in the end of tunnel if he marches on. So Jin is only left to mourn of his loss as he adds more to already existing one.

He starts lathering himself, the thick paste emulsifies as they come in contact with his wet skin. They’re slick, like Shuuji’s sweaty fingers on his heated skin a couple of hours ago. The searing touch is all over him, enveloping, devouring him. And there was Shuuji’s velvety voice too, moans averse yet eager, filling every nook and cranny of Jin’s ears, dizzying, captivating. Like Shuuji’s eyes; blood red with specks of purple dusk, amber with rings of golden sun. When Miwa comes undone beneath him, he rises, like morning, slow burn of dark orange to blue, encompassing, promise of better day, away from the hollow of the night. Beguiled, Jin can only watch, worshiping the way his pupils dilate, experiencing the way his muscles contracts, honoring the way his mouth is opened in silent cry.

It is a moment fleeting, the next moment his reverence will be ripped apart by the torment of guilt. His pride for turning Miwa into this sublime beauty shredded by shame. When it concerns Shuuji, all he is capable of is repeating blunder after after, which is given since he never once tried to make it right.

Because Shuuji won’t let him, will never will. Shuuji hates him and his hatred is only second to Jin’s self-loath. Jin hates himself, sometimes wishes he cease to exist for he is a heinous, awful human being who deserve none of reverence he is receiving. Of himself, he is ashamed, of his doing, he anguished. Of what he had lost and can never regain, he laments. But people looks up to him like Jin was their God and they his followers. They cling to his words like they’re absolute. They seek him for refugee when they’re adrift.

Shuuji does not. Miwa Shuuji detests him. Jin is the anathema - _his_ anathema. But sometimes when Jin peers into those burning twilight entrapped within a pair of human eyes, he wants to believe that as much as Shuuji resent him, he pities him. Because Shuuji understands that Jin is no more and no less victim of his side-effect, his blessing, his commendation - his condemnation at the same time. And it’s only Shuuji who does, who sees behind the grand power, who peels layers and layers over such magnificent gift to find ugly, dreadful truth. That Jin can never be the same again, can never live like normal human being with extra gift. Not after he had given up life so many even if he knows it’s coming.

Guilt, disgust, they remind him, chain him to the ground, makes him remember what a powerless human being he actually is. He needs it to live, to go and makes sacrifice after sacrifice, to loss one and then some - to make other people loss and some more. Words of praise and gratitude are blow to his already bleeding heart, doesn’t alleviate nor relieve his pain.

Only Miwa - only _Shuuji_ , Shuuji and his animated eyes splashed in color of repulse. Shuuji and his desperate, frenzied touch. Shuuji and his cry, broken impaired, like Lorelei’s song - hollow and headlong. Shuuji is here, to remind him, to hate him, to pity him, to think that Jin needs salvation as much as he needs one. To hold him as he come apart and rebuild again, to be broken and put back together as Jin crumbles down into sharp, jagged pieces of glass fragile. Jin needs Shuuji, not in the way human needs air, or children their mothers. Jin needs Shuuji like human needs pain to make certain of their reality, to know they are alive, breathing, and struggling, desperate to survive, to exist in this world.

Knocks on the door, as sharp as Shuuji’s glare, startles him. He turns toward the door where Shuuji is casting shadow over frosted glass, hand lingering on the surface but not quiet touching (like them, like their distance, close yet far away). He blinks slowly, suddenly all too aware at the way his skin crinkles like dried plum, soap has been completely washed away from his body, leaving pool of bubbled up water around his feet.

“Yes?” He rasps out, not surprised at how his voice does not sound like his own.

Shuuji is silent, standing there like a stronghold he is, “you’re wasting the water away.”

Then he is gone, just like that, leaving Jin with the ghost of his presence. For a brief moment, he is stunted, but then he returns to his surrounding, like bird hunted, falling to the ground and losing the mightiness of its wings. Jin laughs, hoarse and bitter, leaning his forehead against the wall. He screws his eyes shut, swallows the rising bile in his throat, then takes one long, deep, shuddering breath to steady himself. Cracking his eyes open, his vision is blurry, but he can make shape of his purpling toes, the white bubbles around his skin. They curl around his feet before flowing down the steel gray drain, and Jin thinks they’re alike, because these bubbles won’t know where the stream will take them, just flowing aimlessly - bubbles in water, Jin in time. And even if it looks like Jin has control over the current of time, he possesses none. All he gets is the merciless weight of responsibility and loss, always loss.

Nobody understand, nobody does but Shuuji. “Shuuji,” Jin murmurs, calls out, _cries_ out in voice not any more shattered than dying man. His voice won’t reach, the wind will carry it and swallow it down before Shuuji can even hear the first syllable.

He thinks at least there is Shuuji, Shuuji who knows how damaged and flawed he is. Shuuji who hates him. Shuuji who sees him. For being defect, for being ruptured on the seams. For being perpetrator as much as he is the victim.

“Shuuji,” Jin calls, once again. Nobody hears. This time, not even the wind bother to carry it away. The water forces his lids shut, the day has just begin, but for Jin it has ‘began’ twelve days and forty six minutes ago.

:::

Shuuji is already dressed when Jin emerges from the bathroom, milky brown hair two shades darker, wet and dripping water all over his bare shoulders. Shuuji does spare him a glance, religiously folding his clothes and putting his belongings back to his bag. His nape is stark white against his ebony hair and jet-black shirt. Jin wants to kiss it, wants to lick a long, wet, scalding stripe down his spine. A drop of water falls to his lashes. Jin wills the forbidden thought away and asks instead.

“You leaving?” Shuuji doesn’t look at him. The only signs he listened is the slight nod of his head. Then nothing, Jin is used to it. He half-groan, half-sighs, “but it’s,” a pause, “Saturday?”

This time, Shuuji answers him. Still not turning around to acknowledge Jin’s presence in the room. “Doesn’t matter, I have guard duty today.”

 _I know_ , Jin’s mind supplies him with visions; Shuuji walking away, Shuuji leaving him alone in his room, with door locked so Jin has to leave with him as well, except that they part ways, Shuuji south and Jin north. Jin feels like crying. He always does. Especially in morning like this when the feel of Shuuji’s hot, intoxicating skin is still raising goosebumps on his flesh.

“How,” Jin croaks out, flexing his fingers. “When are you coming back?”

Shuuji zips his bag shut then stands up, then finally he turns around. His eyes are fixated on Jin; red and painted with specks of weariness, loathing, of plea and unsaid words that gushes forth because not even his eyes can contain his emotion, just like words fail to convey them. “You know,” he points out. Jin nods. Shuuji sighs, averting his gaze to the floor that separates them like gravity, “why-”

“I just-” Jin sighs, cards his fingers through his sopping, damp hair. Shuuji flinches, no doubt in disgust. Jin hears the echo of distant memories, of Shuuji throwing the towel to his head before harshly rubbing them in attempt to dry Jin’s hair, scowling throughout the process. There were lots of insult involved but for Jin, it was a fond memory. He fervently wishes Shuuji will repeat the same action but he just stands there, eyes clear yet confused, asking, inquiring, demanding answer, and Jin’s answer is the tip of his tongue. But they’re heavy, refusing to roll out of his mouth, unlike lies, it is very ‘easy’ to lie. So Jin swallows them back, his heart down his throat, and says, “sometimes it’s nice to pretend.”

He drops his gaze then, to his toes that are slowly regaining its healthy color. Okay, so technically, it wasn’t a lie. He had wanted to say something else as well, but he also genuinely feels pretending some time; of not knowing, of not seeing what is to transpire two months later prior. Morning like this is one of the moment when the desire to forget and feign unenlightened amplifies.

“Sorry, it’s-” he screws his eyes shut, closes the door to his heart, but then Shuuji has the edge in iron grips, preventing it from being sealed completely. Jin raises his head just as abrupt as the restraint. He is met with Shuuji’s eyes, startling crimson and importunate. He feels compelled, not to merely answer but to confess the words concealed, “-stupid, I just feel-”

“-if you’re tired, you can re-”

“-lonely.”

The word didn’t quiet tumble from his lips - crashing out more appropriate, like train wreck. Horrible. Unstoppable. Irrevocable. Shuuji’s mouth is half-opened, he is still casting shadow over Jin’s slowly warming toes, and he also smells like Jin; of spices and all things pleasant. “You can-” he pauses like he is fumbling through his brain’s dictionary to find the right words. Jin flits his gaze to him and finds Shuuji licking his bottom lips, eyebrows knit in frustration. Jin is torn because he cannot quiet decide which one to kiss first; the wrinkles on his forehead or the delectable, raw, and red lips. “-stay here. The spare key-”

“I still have it!” Jin exclaims quickly. Shuuji blinks, adorable and startled, at least he is no longer frowning, just quirking his brows and dilates his pupils. Jin flails for brief seconds before patting his back pocket over enthusiastically, “In my pocket, yeah, still have it. Okay, thank you. I really app-”

“-I’m late,” Shuuji cuts, clean and precise. He starts stepping back and Jin’s fingers crawl with itch to reach out, to entrap those wrists and never let go. To dig his claws deep into that tender skin and leave his marks there, red and angry, deep and desperate.

But Jin does not act on that urge, instead, he stands there, hair still sopping wet, plastered to his face. He watches as Shuuji lugs his rucksack behind his back, adjusting the strap before giving him one last glance, one last nod, and, “be careful, Shuuji.”

He had wanted to say, ‘comeback to me’, but Jin also wants Shuuji to be safe, so, again, technically, he wasn’t lying. He just choose not to say it, like he choose not to see Shuuji walks out through the door.

:::

Jin spends four hours trying to air dry his hair by opening the window (not helpful at all), cooking breakfast from the content of his junior’s frigdes (Shuuji doesn’t keep much but enough for decent toast and egg), washing dishes (not much because Shuuji is excellent at living alone, unlike him), changing the sheet to clean, cum-free ones, doing laundry (actually, Shuuji’s laundry, but he saw that Shuuji won’t mind so he took the liberty), then plops down on the bed, staring at the nearly empty bookshelf before realizing he is yet to put any shirt on. He slips into the one he wore before it got thrown away somewhere in the heat of the moment. It doesn’t smell funny, thankfully, but he spritzes on some freshener just in case. Then Jin sits back on the bed, doing nothing. Practically nothing.

In his defense, the past hours were productive. He is now suffering from the fatigue of it. And there is the fact he is feeling drained, both mentally and physically even though more on the mental side. He had meant it when he said he is feeling lonely, and had hoped, despite knowing the lack of possibility, that Shuuji will opt to stay. He supposes he should be grateful that Shuuji chooses to go down the route where he lets Jin stay instead of kicking him out (he had ‘seen’ it happening). For the remaining hours, Jin just want to think about nothing. He does not want to ‘see’ anything either, because they will bring the inevitable plotting which includes thinking, and Jin doesn’t feel like brain-exercising right now, thank you very much.

He does think tho, of brewing himself a coffee, or maybe pour some cartooned juice Shuuji stashed in the back of his fridge, forgotten. He ends up doing none, letting the gravity accepts the invitation of plush bed instead. Jin humms when his back touches the mattress, the new sheets smell like clean cotton, of console and comfort, promise of safety and reassurance. Jin is a little glad it doesn’t smell like Shuuji because Shuuji smells of apple pies, cinnamon and bergamot. Of cookies freshly baked and tall glass of fresh milk. But Shuuji also smells of heartbreak, of wounds forced open and heart weeping. Of kindness hidden, and emotion unleashed. Of things that Jin could have had and things he had lost. Solace and agitation. Carnage in salvation.

He can’t do this, Jin curses. He _needs_ to stop thinking but his mind already embarks on a journey. Irreversible, like the seed of affection that had taken roots in his heart, a flower that will only bloom for the boy with twilight emblazoned in his eyes. He can see the future and even then, he knows that this - this desire, this lust, this ardor he’s not ready to call ‘love’ yet is unalterable. The nights he spent without sleep to undo this were beyond measure. Somewhere in between he had given up, let time comes into play, sees where it will bring him. So far, he is here, alone in Shuuji’s room after a night of appeased longing for that precious, not quiet broken yet not quiet fixed either-boy.

Not much people know what he and Shuuji do behind closed door, tucked away under the heavy velvety blanket of murky, cobalt night. There is Rindou-san. He didn’t find out; Jin told him. His cigarette had fallen from between his fingers when Jin casually said, “I’m having an affair with Miwa Shuuji from A-7,” after filing his mission report. Rindou-san’s eyebrows had done that impressive leap, if he had bangs styled, they’d disappear under. Jin cracked a grin; weary but not nervous, he already knew what Rindou-san was going to tell him, how he’d react. The Tamakoma director only said, “I trust you,” and “don’t end up crying, both of you.”

Jin was thankful but more so than that, he felt immensely guilty and his self-loathe just increased tenfolds. He deserved to be blamed, screamed or yell at, of how disgusting and sickening he is, of how he did something so low to someone he had hurt badly to begin with. The blame comes in shape of young, adolescent-faced 21 years old named Kazama Souya. He deserves at least verbal censure from the elder, to be castigated with those scorpion-sharp words chewed out from his polite lips. But Kazama-san refuses to indulge Jin and his self-loathing.

Stare arctic-cold, lips drawn tightly downward, frown that is unbecoming on his youthful face. He’d send Jin disapproving look, disapproving glare that burn trench-deep hole on Jin’s back and makes his wretched heart sings in guilty-pleasure. He had only confronted him once, after a meeting where Jin had spent a good portion of it staring at Shuuji with want dripping from his eyes like hot, liquid venom.

“Don’t-” the elder had hissed, finally loosing his patient for the first time since he found out what Jin and Shuuji was doing (caught them in the act, one of those stairs, an hour after the end of Shuuji’s midnight shift, Jin’s hand deep in Shuuji’s pants, _too_ deep). “-you can’t-”

But Kazama-san didn’t continue, in fact never quite finish what he had meant to say at the time. Jin understands. Kazama-san is observant, he is only kind, bright and attentive, he knows that as much as they don’t need _this_ , they need _this_ . For a reason he can get an idea of, because he too, had lost, but even if he could identify with it, he _could not_ understand why Jin and Shuuji decide to commit themselves to it.

In the end he only settled with, “there’s gotta be another way,” giving Jin’s elbows hard, mournful squeeze that spoke of his despondent wish for his hopeless juniors.

Kazama-san knew none of them wished to be saved, at least not by anyone other than themselves or each other. Kazama-san had lived with this but he chose to save himself. However these two need someone who understand, the pain in same amount, the grieve in same depth. In one another they find that identical mangled, weeping heart, bleeding and lacerated soul gasping just to live another seconds in the sea of acidic despair. In public, Jin Yuuichi and Miwa Shuuji are so unalike, black clashing with white, day and night, mutual anathema. But they’re not disconnected, behind those distaste and apparent diplomatic smile, they resemble one another. Behind those many things they cannot come in agreement, they make truce for the sake of nights in each other’s offered arms.

The need is reciprocal, the pain is mutual. Kazama-san refuses to accept but he is not that blind to miss the more relaxed posture of Miwa after one of those nights, the way Jin’s smile becomes more honest. What they do behind their closed door might be working on slow, ticking-time bomb, and Kazama can only prays for the sake of his two, precious and deeply-scarred junior, they can cut the right cord and diffuse it somehow.

“I really wish there is,” Jin murmured. The sound of someone who has given up.

Kazama-san swallowed, then, “find it.”

It was not an order; a plea, from a friend who cares so earnestly about you. At the time Jin could only nod, smiled a little tight on the corner but he wished it came across as sincere. Because he meant it, the smile, the choked out ‘thank you’, the moisten of his eyes when he realized Kazama-san’s heartfelt attention. The topic was rarely brought up after, disparaging glare and concerned stare. Unsaid ‘be careful’ and ‘thank you’.

Yoneya knows. And Yoneya has that ability that Jin so fervently wish to have; to understand Shuuji, to realize him. Thus all Yoneya ever gives him is a smile, helpless and earnest, like a man who has resigned to his fate yet still believing light will come in the end of tunnel. Tsukimi knows, undoubtedly so if the grueling training she had suddenly make Jin join (with Tachikawa) was any indication. The curious thing is none of them tell him to stop. The frightful thing is they understand that Shuuji needs this as Much as Jin does. The scary thing is nobody try to stop them.

Nobody try to stop _him_ , even Shuuji. Shuuji who’s so beautiful as he come apart under Jin’s arms, Shuuji who looks at him with eyes burning red, glassy, teetering on the edge, threatening to break with any more pressure in similar fashion Jin is. And breaks him he do, with hands that have taken life too many without lifting a finger, with hands too bloody without even holding a sword. With these hands coagulated with sin, he makes Shuuji come undone, peeling layers after layers of that complicated, beauteous boy. Dirtying him, defiling him, injecting his toxic deep into that brilliant veins red and blue. Stain them dark, rippling bleak.

Back to present, Jin prays if God exist, even if he’s playing one himself, for forgiveness to exist. For mercy to be as kind. For Shuuji to come home right now because if he doesn’t, Jin would be drowning in the ocean of his own, salty crystalline tears. Unable to breath, gasping for air, for Shuuji to forces his lungs open and makes him breathe, in and out, safe and sound. And he is already sinking deep in the trench of his own guilt, self-loathe, immense hatred to his very own existence, of this gift he never wish for.When the weight of his side-effect is crashing down on him, undeviating like setting sun, inexorable, tumultuous sink, dragging him to the bottom of his soul’s very core. Like gravity, or worse, like how he always finds himself back on this bed, in those arms magnanimous.

Shuuji hates him. Pities him. Shuuji spares him no mercy but to Jin he offers his acceptance. And Jin rushes headlong into his arms, splintering, stripped to the bones, defected but not impaired. He waits for those teeth to tear him apart and delicate fingers to pieces him up after.

Jin loves Shuuji, he truly does. Shuuji knows but Shuuji doesn’t say anything. Because he is kind with soul more bright than thousand of years star, more sweltering that the golden sun. And he knows, knows that Jin is not quiet ready to admit his love out loud just yet, still feeling undeserving, probably will never feel so. Not until he can close the wound in Shuuji’s own heart, one thing he doubts he can ever achieve even if he can manage to save thousands of life or more.

In his waiting he will be here, tucked safely under Shuuji’s blanket, hidden from prying eyes who does not will to see him less than strong, waiting, waiting, crying, waiting, and wishing, with knees bent and fingers curled, that one day, the moment will eventually come when he can outright claim his love, his feeling that always choke him with more than he can accommodate. But Shuuji can encompass them, he knows he can. Shuuji is strong, stronger than people thought of him for his raw and unashamed display of emotion. Human. Shuuji is much more so, has always been. Jin can’t be, he is unfeeling, detached when he makes his pick - throw fifty and spare twelve, discard two hundreds and scoop up five. What Shuuji embodies if what he could never be, and maybe he loves him for that, longs him for that, but Shuuji is also epitome of heartbreak, of ache and one refused to be saved, beyond repair yet not quiet. In his flaw Shuuji is even more fascinating, terrifically so. And Jin can only love him, offers him his weeping heart on silver platter and waits until Shuuji pick it up.

“Hurry and come back,” Jin croaks out, rubbing his wet eyes. He rolls onto his side and lets his eyes fall shut. He has three hours and twenty seven minutes until Shuuji returns. Three hours and twenty minutes until he can be sewn back together.

:::

Shuuji blinks down on the warm body on his bed. On the damp lashes, on the trail of dried up tears running down sun-kissed skin. Sighing wearily, he drops his bag to the floor, careful so it won’t fall on his feet. Shuuji screws his eyes shut, feeling the familiar headache, pounding heartache.

“Jin,” he calls out and watches, mesmerized at how the body stirs immediately the last syllable rolls out of his tongue. Jin blinks, soaked lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, his misty blue clears into sunshine sky, of summer and beams golden.

“Shuuji?” Jin calls back in answer. Like reaching out. Like fingers, warm and heady lacing to his own, curling, and never let go. Intimate. Lock and Key. Jin raises, using his arms as leverage. Shuuji visibly shudders. “You are ho-”

“Kiss me.”

And just like that, Jin surges forward, tidal wave crashing to the castle of sand. Lion in hunger. Blood to oxygen. Blind man seeing for the first time, scared yet greedy of light. Needing more, wanting more, craving, until no single cell in his body can survive without feeling the younger boy in his bound, touching, kissing. Not close enough even if he gets him under ironclad grip, trembling fingers, and bruising clasp. No tender embrace, not when Jin is dying if he spend even a second a millimeter away from him. Shuuji is pliant, accepting body in his restraining embrace.

He detaches their lips to throw Shuuji into the bed. He falls, gaze still locked on Jin’s desperate ones, long limbs graceful, like birds falling, wings folded and broken. _Beautiful_ , Jin thinks before bracing his arms on the either side of Shuuji’s head, peering deep into bedazzled ruby, wishing to scoop something from the sea of red, anything to alleviate the numbing pain.

Shuuji raises his hand, fingertips grazing his damp cheeks in shy whisper of touch. His eyes questioning, unspoken yet clear in those pool of sinking sun. “Why-” he mumbles, hesitant susurration. Worries, concern. Jin chokes on his own feelings. “-don’t-”

Jin kisses him again. It lacks finesse, no tenderness, but he hopes from the most profound depth of his battered heart, they can convey his misery. Shuuji kisses back just as hungry, fingers fumbling on the hem of Jin’s shirt, slipping under and _God_ , his fingers are burning coal on Jin’s frigid skin. He hisses at the sudden contrasting temperature, Shuuji flinches, almost draws his fingers back but Jin keeps them splayed on the little of his back, firm and fiery.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Jin groans, screwing his eyes shut as his nerves go haywire. Head dizzy, he barely registers Shuuji now tugging on the fabric of his clothes. Another groan, “maybe not. Let me get this off.”

Shuuji stops tugging, resting his fingers dormant on Jin’s torso. Eyes observing every flex of his muscle as he slips off from his shirt and throws it to the dark corner of the room. Jin is still looking straight into his eyes, blistering red to endless blue, when he starts unbuckling Shuuji’s belt. Shuuji freezes but doesn’t say anything. He raises his hip to make the process of undressing his pants easier. Once his pants are somewhere on the floor, just by the leg of the bed. His shirt goes next, leaving his hair a mess just like themselves, haphazard, untidy, unmade.

Jin kisses him again with ferocity of threatened wild animal. He kisses him, intending to forget, to make both of them forget what happened between their times awake, what occurred and did not between them. For now, all that matter is they’re together, breathing each other in, away from world unrelenting. Affirming each other’s existence. Safe and sound.

“Jin-” Shuuji moans when Jin leaves his mouth to find purchase on the juncture of his neck, licking, nipping, biting, and marking him. Jin can feel him trembling beneath his skin, delighting in the knowledge that it’s him who’s making Shuuji like this.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jin kisses the reddening skin. “So pretty, so open, like this,” He trails wet kisses down Shuuji’s chest, the black-haired boy bites down on his bottom lips to keep from moaning out loud. “Don’t, please don’t,” Jin stops kissing him, snapping his head up and wedges his thumb between the white teeth and tender flesh. Shuuji bites down, hard, Jin doesn’t flinch, only smiles bitterly, pleading, “I want to hear you.”

Quivering eyes, gaze downcast, dark lashes falling like velvet curtain. Shuuji releases his teeth, eyes closed, cheeks brightly flushed. Jin gets unbelievably hard down there at the unabashed display of submission. His eyes are suddenly teary, just what did he do to deserve this exquisitely invaluable boy? Apparently, Shuuji is aware at the hardening of his length, he casts one shy glance down to the shadowy part between their joined bodies, then with eyes that is so sure despite the uncertainty of their relation, he breathes out, “please.”

 _Please, don’t go. Don’t cry. Don’t leave. Don’t stop. Don’t_ \- Jin kisses it all, swallows them until they’re mixed in his blood, dissolved, become a part of him. He stops, then rummages under the pillow to find a bottle of lube they got stashed there. Shuuji is now trying to work him out of his jeans, hurried fingers and frenzied pants, because, _damn_ , they’re not even doing anything remotely close yet he’s already so far gone.

“Fuck,” Shuuji curses, letting our frustrated sob when he can’t quiet work his fingers right.

“It’s fine, sssh, I got this,” _I got you_. He whispers to Shuuji’s hair, curling his fingers on top of Shuuji’s own before prying them away. After he gets rid of his jeans, under Shuuji’s heated gaze, Jin starts lathering himself, hissing at the coldness of his own fingers and lubricant.

Shuuji bites his lips, eyes dark and heavy on Jin’s angry red cock. It is overwhelming how much they want each other, they had barely done anything, not even foreplay, yet both of them are already dripping. Shuuji’s own cock are already leaking, curled flush against his flat stomach.

“Fuck, I haven’t prep you-"

“No need,” Shuuji cuts him. Jin can see how much the younger wants this, needs this, right _now_ and he is gonna lost himself for real if Jin doesn’t start soon.

“But-” Jin looks at him, stark blue eyes wide with worry. Shuuji is probably thinking that it’s too late. They’re this far already, and,

“You won’t hurt me,” he says with conviction. Jin’s stomach plummets, heart swells. His gaze wavers but he keeps them level with that pool of brave red. It’s a lie they’re already well versed of but Shuuji wants him, like this; not in any other way, now; not any other time. And for all the wrong he had done the younger boy, Jin can only give.

“I-” Outside the sun is setting. Shadow starts falling, heavy curtain of starlit black, spilling over the light like rich velvet. And together, Jin’s words are gone, consumed by the night hollow so endless. He can never finish his words, three words eternally unspoken. Unfreed. Yet not untrue. He meant it with every fiber of his being. With every breath he takes.

Their eyes meet once again and Shuuji raises to kiss him, gentle and tender. The kiss speaks less than trust but more of surrender. Jin seizes his heated cheeks with slick, sticky hands, black strands clumped together. They kiss like they’re exchanging soul, like they’re pouring their lifes to each other. Jin’s heart shoots like comet in the sky, but it’s more like meteor in gravity, burnt up, bursting into technicolor dust and particles. The little remnant left of him is salvaged, and Jin realizes it wasn’t his heart that’s consumed; it was his pain. He is still there, stripped from what corrupted him and is left for Shuuji to pick and patch him up.

Nevertheless, his heart does burn, like his eyes. They’re stinging with unshed tears. Tears that do not seem to come out as free as when Shuuji isn’t around. Shuuji lets go, hands resting on Jin’s shoulder blades. “I-” Jin tries again.

“I know,” Shuuji kisses him again chastely. “Please.”

This time, Jin agrees. Soft nod, trembling lips. Shuuji lies down, breathing out, eyes closed. Jin lets his body fall over him again, like he is protecting Shuuji from harm. Words threaten to spill but nothing comes. He aligns himself, like stars, then takes one shuddering breath.

Shuuji knows. Shuuji understands. And maybe, that’s all he ever needs.

:::

There is a part in him that is always brewing storm, even if another part is sun and shining. It never quiet go away, even when he had accepted that his sister is gone forever. There is also a part of him that wishes to go home, a small room with no proper kitchen and living room like he used to live in when his sister was still bright, alive and smiling. And then there is another part that refuses because  it’s not his ‘home’, not without his sister, waiting, welcoming. The room he is living now is bare, stripped from any color of personality, simple kitchen and bathing unit, a single bed propped against a boring, creamy white wall. It’s been almost two years yet it never quiet feel like home.

Because the storm is still brewing. Because he is still searching. For something who can make it home, for ‘someone’ who can make it worth coming back to.

And Miwa Shuuji hates Jin Yuuichi, hates it with every fibers of his bone, and every cells of his blood. But Jin is the stone he can’t flesh out, lodged there in the crack of his being as if he’s the missing puzzle piece, as if he is the part that fits but went missing. That part found him, made home in the hollowed chasm of his heart. Except that Jin does more than just simply filling him; he empties him and fills him up. He contains him when Miwa is about to splinters apart, keeping him from completely losing himself. So he can retain the most important piece that makes him ‘him’. So he can get back up after he falls, coming undone.

Miwa would never admit, not even when his life depends on it, that even if Jin doesn’t quiet make him whole, he makes the small room feels like home. Jin waits for him, for someone who hates him and satisfies his self-loathing, to tell him he is wrong, and he is not what people makes him out to be. That he is filthy, that he is selfish for taking life so many and spare rather few.

Jin waits, on his bed, in the dark of his room, in the bathroom that’s always squeaky clean whenever he left Jin there alone. With eyelashes damp with tears and eyes raw with sorrow. With pleas and cries of help that makes Miwa think that he is not the one needs saving like people assume he is. Jin makes him feel powerful, less helpless, and more steady. He needs to be strong to keep this man from breaking, being ripped apart by the torment of his own self-hate. Because Jin does not only ‘sees’ future, he ‘is’ the future. Okay, he might not be the future himself but he holds the key, without him they - Border, him - won’t be as formidable.

And Jin understands, Jin - who makes him can’t wait to _go home_ whenever he gaze at Miwa like he is something that has been hidden for so long inside the box of Pandora, revealed, bared for world to see - understands his loss, his fear, his guilt, and hatred. Even if they are not the only two losing, even if there are other people who had lost as much as they do, nobody does it quiet like Jin does.

“Jin,” he calls out.

Jin doesn’t stir awake, head tucked under his chin, strands of brown hair tickling his throat. Breath even, raising goosebumps on his collarbones. One arm is wedged between Miwa’s body and the soft mattress, the other is thrown across his bare torso, legs are tangled with each others.

Miwa mumbles once again into his hair, calling, making certain. The body in his arms is warm, steady rise and fall, alive. He should not be worry, but the storm is still brewing and he feels queasy staring at the darkness of his room. It feels like home but not quiet, not when he feels weak and powerless like this, crippled by fear of not having his call answered (his sister, lying limply on his arms, dead, _sister, sister!_ , no answer. Silent. Mute. Hole in her chest, dark, opened. Dead).

This time, Jin shifts inside the safe confine of his arms. He rises, from the sleep where he is safe and sound. Miwa watches, entranced and perplexed when those pair of wintry sky turns into summer blue upon seeing him. A small smile, stretched slowly. The storm still brews, but when Jin’s fingers slowly start to scale upward the map that is his body, tucking his hair behind his ear, it slowly dissolve into rain. Quiet, heavy downpour. It’s not calm but at least it’s not storm anymore. “Shuuji.”

At the answer, Miwa releases his breath. He does say nothing anymore. Shaking his head, Miwa squirms until it is him tucked under Jin’s chin, his breathe fanning Jin’s collarbones. He splays his fingers over Jin’s chest, feeling the strong, reassuring beats under his digits. It’s strangely calming, like sedative.

“It’s,” Jin’s head shift above him, messing Miwa’s hair, “two forty. Let’s just go back to sleep, okay? I have morning mission.”

He had wanted to nod in answer but he remembers the churn of his stomach when Jin doesn’t answer him verbally. Dark room. Ink black night. Lonesome thought. Solitude despite being in the crowd. “Okay,” he settles with a sleepy murmur instead before shutting his eyes close.

Jin makes a contented noise with his throat, snuggling Miwa closer to find the right position. One of his arms got fingers tangled in Miwa’s locks of ebony, pulses are comforting lullaby in Miwa’s ears.

One day, Miwa will find calm. One day, Jin can be his home. One day, Jin will stop hating himself. One day, Shuuji can make him accept forgiveness. One day, but not today. Because outside, the night is still spilling, and inside, their hearts are still clamoring. But at least today, the sun will eventually rise and until comes the morning light, they’re in each other’s arms, sharing warmth, still lacking and not quiet mended. But like this, at least today they’re safe and sound.


End file.
